


90% of the time, I want you to touch me

by Mystrana



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Exploration of sexuality, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post canon, Soft Andrew Minyard, Soft Neil Josten, ace neil, sex-averse Neil, very mild sexual content at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: Neil loves being with Andrew. So why does he sometimes feel like he's going to throw up when they kiss?
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 238





	90% of the time, I want you to touch me

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me at about 2am this morning. It's vaguely autobiographical. I don't know if it'll be comforting to anyone else, but it was comforting to me. So, I hope you enjoy it too.

The first time that kissing Andrew makes Neil feel like he’s going to throw up, they’re in the shower, making out under the warm spray and jerking each other off. He pauses and swallows back a sudden burst of nausea, the heat of the shower suddenly too much in the wrong sort of way. Instead of a pleasurable rise to an orgasm, he’s sick to his stomach. 

He wipes off his lips. Maybe they were just too wet? And he tries to kiss Andrew again. Andrew has his eyes closed and opens his mouth for Neil without hesitation, and Neil kisses him, but his lips are just so…slimy. And so wet. Another wave of nausea threatens him, and Neil swallows hard and wipes his lips again. There’s just too much water, it’s just too wet in the shower. 

Neil has no clue why this is happening, but Andrew’s breathing heavily, his chest is flushed red, and he must be close, so Neil tucks his head into the curve of Andrew’s neck and presses his lips against Andrew’s skin. He ghosts gentle kisses on Andrew’s pulse point until Andrew’s cum is spilling down Neil’s thigh a few moments later. Andrew’s hand is still on his dick and it ought to feel good, but Neil’s suddenly as far away from an orgasm as he’s ever been. 

The humidity of the shower is overwhelming, his head hurts, and his stomach hurts, and he just needs some fresh air. So he jumps out of the shower and cracks open the door to let out the humidity. 

Andrew peeks out at Neil a second later, expression unreadable. “You ok?”

Neil nods. “I’m fine. I think I just got overheated.” And now that the cool air of the hallway is flooding into the bathroom, he does feel much better. He drinks some cold water from the sink and takes a deep breath. Whatever just happened was weird, but he’s heard of people getting overwhelmed by humidity before. 

That’s all it was.

So the second time that kissing Andrew makes Neil feel like he’s going to throw up, it’s just as unexpected. They’re watching a movie on the couch together, or at least they were, until Andrew slid a hand down from Neil’s waist to his thigh, and Neil leaned closer, and they started kissing. It’s soft and gentle and slowly starting to move into something warmer.

And usually, when they start kissing, it takes Neil a few minutes to warm up to it anyhow; it’s almost always worth it by the end. Except this time, it’s been maybe a minute and Neil’s stomach is roiling, like he’s absolutely going to be sick if he keeps kissing Andrew any longer.

He pulls back, swallows down the bile threatening to rise in his throat, and smiles, apologetically. “Hey, do you think you could brush your teeth first?” he asks, hoping it’s just a case of bad breath.

Andrew raises an eyebrow, but he goes off and returns two minutes later with minty fresh breath. “Better?” he asks, baring his teeth in a feral smile.

“Yes,” Neil says, because it has to be better. He can will himself to make it better.

Andrew sits back down and pulls Neil’s legs over his, they start kissing again, and the mint soothes his nausea for just long enough that Neil thinks he’s solved the problem. It’s such a relief, even though it’s a little odd because he’s pretty sure he’s kissed Andrew with morning breath before and been ok. But whatever, Neil’s just happy that there’s a solution.

Not two seconds later, Andrew slides his hand down to Neil’s lap, and Neil nearly recoils at the touch. Andrew stops immediately, and gazes curiously at Neil.

Neil’s pretty sure his cheeks are burning hot enough to fry eggs. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I--” He wants to tell Andrew the truth, but he’s not even sure what the truth is. Andrew sits next to him, patient, hands to himself, waiting for Neil to gather his thoughts but not forcing him to speak. Neil takes a deep breath. “I must be getting sick.”

Andrew hums, not committed to Neil’s answer. 

Neil waits for his heart to slow down from its hammering pace, waits for his cheeks to cool. He’s not getting sick; the moment they stopped kissing, his nausea disappeared. The realization burns him to his core with shame. He chances a glance at Andrew; Andrew looks the same as always, the strong lines of his shoulders and the gentle way his hair frames his face. 

It still makes Neil smile to look at Andrew. Cautiously, Neil leans back against Andrew. The physical contact is ok; Andrew is solid and real and comforting. 

“Do you mind holding me?” Neil asks, his voice as small as he feels.

Andrew doesn’t waste words on a reply; he just wraps an arm around Neil, and it’s soothing, mitigating a bit of the uneasiness that still bubbles underneath Neil’s skin. They watch the movie together, and Neil leans his head back against Andrew’s chest and listens to his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his breathing lulls Neil into sleep, and he misses the last three scenes.

Neil wakes up an hour or so later, still in Andrew’s arms. The TV is off and Andrew is scrolling on his phone, his feet propped up on a cushion and one of their cats curled against his legs. Neil smiles up, the remnants of sleep a buffer from what happened a little while ago.

Unfortunately, he remembers it immediately upon sitting up, and nearly knocks himself off the couch in his haste to get up. Shame clings to him again, his skin is crawling with too many emotions, and he just wants to go for a run until he can figure out what’s going on with him. It’s close to midnight, and Neil throws yet another apologetic look Andrew’s way. 

He nods vaguely towards the door. “I’m just going to go for a quick run, ok?”

Andrew’s gaze splits him open, like Andrew can see inside and knows exactly what Neil is thinking. “Don’t go too far?” he asks. Neil hears the  _ be safe _ and  _ I love you _ behind his words, and somehow, it makes things worse. 

Neil doesn’t deserve to be safe, to be loved. Not when he gets sick when he’s kissing the one person he thought he loved, the one person he let touch him because he thought that this time, it was going to be different. 

As he laces up his shoes and pulls a reflective jersey down from a hook, he can’t bring himself to look at Andrew’s face. 

“Just around the neighborhood,” he mumbles to Andrew’s feet. Andrew’s wearing two different socks, one is striped black and gray, the other is black with gray stars. 

Neil loves Andrew’s socks. He loves Andrew.

Heat hot on his face, Neil leaves quickly. He sets a fast pace, determined to outrun his thoughts, and he’s mostly successful. With the cool night air, the rumbling of frogs from the neighbor’s swamp across the street, and the steady tracks of sidewalk to follow, Neil loses himself in movement. His body and his breathing work together in that sweet spot some people call a runner’s high, and he makes his way through the circuit of the neighborhood five times before coming to a stop in front of their house.

Sweat’s plastered his hair to his neck, his lungs are grateful for the chance to catch up to his body’s oxygen requirements, and his hands are shaking, because he still doesn’t want to go inside and admit anything to Andrew.

He doesn’t know where to expect Andrew when he opens the door, but the light in the living room is dark, and it makes sense; it’s probably almost two in the morning. Andrew’s probably gone to lie down, if not sleep yet. Sure enough, the light in the bedroom is on, and Neil pictures Andrew reading in bed, their cats lying in his lap. 

Neil breathes out, kicks off his shoes in the hallway, and grabs a towel from the closet on his way to the bathroom. He’s hedging his bets; maybe now that Andrew knows Neil’s back home safe, he’ll go to sleep by the time Neil’s done showering, and he won’t have to talk to him until the morning.

The water heats up as Neil strips his sweat-soaked clothing off and tosses it in a pile in the corner. He purposely hadn’t stopped at the bedroom to grab a change of clothes. Neil steps into the shower and scrubs himself down. He runs his hands through his curls, fingertips pressed to his scalp as he works shampoo through his hair. The soapy bubbles trace lines down his face, trail down his back, and swirl down the drain, taking some of his stress with them.

Neil grabs the bar of soap and starts from his neck, working his way down. He’s always known he didn’t really care about sex. He could take it or leave it. But with Andrew, it usually works out ok; he gives it a few minutes, and his body warms up to the idea. Most of the time, he gets off and it’s a pleasurable enough feeling. Sometimes, it’s even fun.

And apparently sometimes it makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. So that’s really cool. Not.

He’s soaping between his toes when he has to admit that he’s stalling. When he finally turns off the water, the silence that rises is painfully loud. And when he’s dried off, including between his toes, he has nothing else to distract himself with. And Andrew deserves to… well, what? 

Neil’s heart sinks. Andrew deserves the chance to leave him if he doesn’t like the fact that sometimes Neil doesn’t want to have sex with him.

He wraps the towel around his waist and, shoulders set as resolutely as he can, marches to the bedroom. The light is still on. Andrew’s still in the bed, reading. The cats are still sleeping at his feet. And Neil’s the one thing that’s wrong with the equation. He can’t speak as he pulls a t-shirt and boxers from the dresser. 

Andrew’s eyes are on him like lasers. Neil gets into bed and dives right into the conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“Sometimes when we’re kissing, I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Neil mumbles in the direction of the blanket. At least the blanket can’t hate him. Hot tears threaten to dot the corner of his eyes, and wouldn’t that be hilarious if the first time he’s cried in a decade is over kissing his boyfriend?

Neil is slightly on the edge of hysteria.

“We don’t have to kiss,” Andrew says, simply. 

Like that solves all of the problems.

“Sometimes,” Neil says, his voice even smaller, but still too loud for the room, “It makes me nauseous when you’re touching me.”

Andrew presses his lips together.

“I don’t know why,” Neil adds, quickly. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“I ask you,” Andrew says, the words hanging between them like weights.

“You do,” Neil reassures him, miserable. “It’s me. And you’ve always stopped when I asked you to.”

Andrew nods, slowly. Neil knows he’s replaying the moments in his head, checking Neil’s words against the memories forever burned into his brain. 

“Thank you. For telling me to stop,” Andrew says. The space between them isn't insurmountable. 

Neil lets out a shuddery breath. “But you must hate me.”

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice is quiet but firm. “I love you.”

The room is spinning around them. It must be. Neil doesn’t know what to say to Andrew’s outright declaration. They never say those words; it’s always wrapped up in lunches made for each other and buying their favorite flavors of ice cream and quiet embraces.

“I don’t know if I want to have sex ever again. Or at least any time soon.” Neil shrinks with each admission.

“Then we won’t have sex again. Or any time soon.” Andrew reaches out and touches Neil on the cheek so gently that Neil has to look him in the eye.

Andrew is staring at him with a heavy-lidded seriousness, the truth in his statements written in every line on his face. 

“I like when you hold me,” Neil says, offering what he can, and Andrew scoots over until he’s slotted up against Neil, his strong arms around Neil’s body. Neil sinks into his warmth and listens to the way Andrew’s voice rumbles deep in his chest.

“So we’ll figure it out together,” Andrew says. “The only thing I  _ need _ from you is for you to tell me what’s ok, and what isn’t. I don’t want to guess. I’m not going to assume.”

Neil nods, and a sudden, huge weight lifts from his chest. He seriously feels like he could float up to the ceiling in relief. Andrew’s making it all seem so simple, and so easy, but he had been so worried. 

“I love you too,” Neil breathes out, belatedly. He nuzzles into Andrew’s chest, enveloped in something warm and fuzzy and almost a little bit daunting in its intensity. 

Maybe it will be that easy, because it’ll be with Andrew.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! My headcanon is that Neil probably reads and writes a lot of smutty fanfic. 
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Mystrana_)


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